I got to see Sugar in a pretty small place in Baltimore once.  Talk about a sonic blast.

I’m shocked.

Well, you have to make “a football move,” whatever the fuck that is.

I think they settled on “You can’t tackle him until he becomes a runner,” which is the stupidest rule I’ve ever heard, and that is saying a lot for the NFL.

Michael, I’ve gained a lot of perspective from reading your stuff. Thank you for that.

Are we really going to be up all night this time? Because I’ll keep going:

Double entendres completely unintended, I’m sure.

Lots of people are talking about how Booker is a bipolar meth-head.

Fuck that. I demand my fucking unicorn.

How do you not get around to mentioning Lawrence McCutcheon? James Harris? The Youngbloods, Fred Dryer, John Cappelletti, Pat Haden, Billy Waddy? I just realized I’m not 12 anymore. This sucks.

I never count those evil bastards out for anything. Besides, between purity tests and absence of unicorns, you can always count on the left to shoot itself in the foot.

I remembered that wrong. He actually did drum corps, and studied percussion in college. But the point stands.

These assholes *gained* seats last time.  Do they really have that much to worry about?

Why would anybody who wants to get their word out try to do so through the Failing New York Times?

You made billions peddling lousy, overpriced coffee with a pretentious ordering system, and probably paid your *ahem*, “baristas” a pittance with no benefits to boot. And you wonder why the rank and file of the only party that even marginally gives a shit about the working class hate you?

I don’t care how long it’s been, It’s never the wrong time to say Fuck Bobby Hurley, and Fuck Duke.

The drummer had been in the Marine Corps band and even he couldn’t figure out what some of the time signatures were.

“But this spot also peels a ton and won’t last.”